


Cloaks in the Godswood

by thewolvescalledmehome



Series: Blossoms of Hope [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon Era, F/M, Jonsa Spring Challenge, Kinda, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 08:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18133073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: Jonsa Spring Challenge Day 2: godswood and gardensAfter Sansa gifts him with the name of Stark, Jon has to give her something in return.





	Cloaks in the Godswood

It had been weeks since Sansa had proposed the idea of her being the Northern daughter he marry. He had passed the idea along to Davos and the Northern lords who had initially balked at the idea, but after Sansa joined one of the council meetings and explained that she would give him the Stark name and as the Wardeness of the North, she would be the best political choice for Jon. She had the strongest ties, strongest House name. Plus, any heirs she produced would have more Stark blood than any other House.

Once the lords finally agreed, they wanted the ceremony right away. Jon kept trying to hold off until he could wrap his head around it. Being Jon Stark. Sansa as his wife. But they lords and Davos all thought that the marriage of the King of the Seven Kingdoms would be the celebration that the kingdom needed to put the wars behind them.

In the days leading up to the ceremony, Jon found himself spending more and more time in the godswood. It was the only place he actually felt like a Stark.

That was where Sansa found him, under the large weirwood tree in front of the pool, the day before the ceremony.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Sansa said, sitting beside him.

“The lords never come in here.”

“Is that the only reason you hide in here?”

Jon’s eyes snapped up to hers, wondering how much she knew. How much she understood.

“Are you still certain? About tomorrow?” he asked instead.

“Of course, Jon.”

“I’ve told Davos that the bedding ceremony will be private. They’ll get their heirs soon enough. They don’t need to watch their creation.”

“Thank you, Jon.”

“And…we don’t need to create heirs right away. Not until you’re ready.”

“The lords won’t like that.”

“I don’t care what they’ll like. I care about you, Sansa.”

Sansa’s fingers found his then, twisting together between their legs and resting on the wood beneath them.

“That’s why I’m certain about tomorrow, Jon. I trust you.”

Jon’s heart started racing at the rush of warmth that flooded him at the words. She trusted him. After every hell she had been through, she trusted him. It was more than he could ask for.

“When I was in King’s Landing I often hid in the godswood too. Southron godswoods are a little different though. It was smaller, but surrounded by a garden. There were flowers and vines and colors everywhere. It’s the only part of the South I didn’t hate.”

“That sounds beautiful,” he said softly, looking at the godswood around him.

It was as colorful as he remembered it being in his childhood, but he doubted it compared to the colors Sansa saw in the South. The white of the trees, the blood red of the leaves, and the green of the grass.

“It almost didn’t feel like a godswood sometimes, though. Without the pool, and their heart tree was half the size.”

“I pledged my life to the Watch in front of a heart tree.”

“Castle Black had a godswood?”

“It was small—probably smaller than the one in King’s Landing. The leaves were only colors.”

“Even in the summer?”

“Even then.”

Jon’s hand flexed, thinking about how he and Sam had knelt and swore to protect the realm from that day until his last day. He remembered with the usual shiver how he did, how the cold knives in the dark ended his promise.

Sansa’s hand squeezed back. He’d forgotten they’d been holding hands still.

“Are you certain about tomorrow?” she whispered, her other hand landing gently on his arm.

“If it were anyone else, I would be terrified,” he admitted.

“But you’re not?”

“When I think of the idea of being king with you by my side, it’s the only time that I don’t absolutely hate being king.”

Jon turned to face her, wondering what she would do if he leaned forward, closed the distance between them. They were to marry tomorrow, after all. They would have to at least share a kiss at the ceremony. He watched her eyes, how they danced around his face. He found his eyes flicking back to her lips—the rosebud pink. He wondered if any of the flowers she spoke of in the South were of that shade.

“Sansa, I—”

Bells began chiming then, jolting him back.

“I suppose someone could be looking for us,” she murmured, her hand leaving his. It was a mild spring day, but it felt as cold as winter without her skin against his.

Inside the keep, Jon immediately went to the council chambers, looking for Davos.

“I need your help,” he said, dropping his hand over the parchments his Hand was reading.

* * *

Sansa was dressed in her third wedding gown and donned her third maiden’s cloak. The other two times Sansa had been filled with dread, her stomach churning to the point she was certain she would throw up.

This time it was different. Her dress was silver instead of gold or ivory. Her cloak didn’t weigh her down. She almost smiled when she was presented with her reflection.

Even as she walked to the godswood, escorted by Bran, she found that her heart was beating faster, but it wasn’t that sick feeling of terror. It was what she supposed a woman was meant to feel on her wedding day.

“You look beautiful,” Bran told her as they paused just within sight of all those who had gathered around the heart tree.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarser than she thought it would be.

She thought she saw Jon at the base of the tree, and for the first time she felt a tension tighten her stomach. She never stopped to consider what color cloak Jon would be wearing—what color he would cloak her in.

“Jon… Jon’s not wearing a Targaryen cloak, is he?”

She could only imagine how he was feeling if he was.

“It’s dark, but I don’t think so. I don’t see any red.”

“Thank the gods,” she muttered. She didn’t think she could stomach wearing a Targaryen cloak.

Bran escorted her forward then, until she was close enough to see that Jon was not wearing a Targaryen cloak or Stark colors. He was wearing the cloak she’d made for him before they had battled for Winterfell the first time. It bore the Stark Direwolf, but it wasn’t a Stark cloak—it wasn’t a bride cloak.

 _Because he doesn’t have the name,_ she realized as she placed her hand in Jon’s.

“Are you all right?” he whispered, kneeling in front of the tree.

“Yes,” she answered, squeezing his hand. “Do you trust me?”

“What?” he asked, a bit too loud. Sansa heard murmuring behind her. They were supposed to be saying their vows.

“I have an idea.” In a normal voice she began reciting the vows, Jon stumbling to catch up and match his voice with hers.

When they rose and it came time for cloaking, Sansa’s hand caught Jon’s before he could remove her maiden’s cloak.

Instead, she undid the straps holding his cloak from around his shoulders and let it fall to the grass. The whispered thump of it landing was almost enough to mask the gasps that came from behind them.

She saw the question in his eyes, but she also saw how they soften from steel grey to the dove grey of the cloak she removed. She saw the exact moment he realized what she was going to do, and the grateful smile he granted her was ten times what it was the first time she gave him a cloak.

With a flourish, the Stark cloak she wore was around Jon, effectively naming him Jon Stark.

* * *

“Jon, what are you doing?” Sansa asked, a laugh heightening her voice. He was leading her somewhere, a scrap of silk wrapped around her eyes.

“I had something made for you. As a wedding gift.”

“Oh, Jon, I didn—”

“You already gave me the greatest gift. I can only hope I ever come close to giving you everything you’ve given me. I’m just sorry it’s taken so long. I only had the idea the day before our ceremony.”

She could tell they were outside, but she couldn’t think of what Jon could have had made for her that would be out here. She knew Ned had had a sept made for Catelyn as a wedding gift, but Sansa found herself more drawn to the old gods and they already had a godswood.

“Here we are,” Jon said, stopping them. She thought they must have passed through something as the air was different: sweeter, warmer. It didn’t smell of Winterfell. It almost reminded her of gardens in the South. The one part she almost found she missed.

She felt the heat of Jon’s hands as he untied the silk from her eyes.

Sansa was met with dazzling jewel tones and far more colors than she’d ever seen above The Neck.

“Jon, what—” she started, her eyes nearly filling at the sight of the beautiful glass garden.

“I remember what you had said about it being the only part of the South that you missed—and I noticed how you started wearing more colors. I just thought you should have some of that beauty this far north.”

Sansa had stepped forward as he spoke, fingers grazing the petals and vines that covered the shelves. She was pulled farther between the plants as she remembered seeing such flowers for the first time in King’s Landing. Her wonder and amazement at seeing such vibrant beauty in person. She remembered how she had thought about her bastard brother, who had joined the Night’s Watch and who would probably never see such colors.

“Do you like it, then?”

She turned suddenly at the sound of his quiet voice.

“Oh, Jon. I love it.”


End file.
